A Nonnatus Haunting
by kelby brandt
Summary: Patsy and Delia help Sister Monica Joan solve a ghostly mystery. (this will probably be around 4 or 5 chapters)
1. Chapter 1

"Someone! Anyone! Help!" Sister Monica Joan paced between the hallway and the dining room wringing her hands together anxiously. "Help!"

"Sister Monica Joan? What's the matter?" Delia called from the stairs, her bangs floating upward as her steps quickened. She tried to ascertain what might be ailing the Sister this time. Being at Nonnatus House for several months now hadn't brought her any closer to successfully predicting the elderly nun whose inquisitive eyes brimmed with knowledge and persnickety confusion.

"I consumed a piece of cake- it was only one piece, mind you. And, alas, when I turned to put the tin's hat back in its place- the tin had vanished!" Sister Monica Joan's eyes darted to and fro searching the table top as if, under the spell of dancing blue, the tin would reappear.

"Oh Sister Monica Joan, here it is."

"By the mop bucket?" Indignant, the nun turned pale. "And water puddled on the floor beside it."

Delia paused. "I suppose Mrs. Mapleton forgot to put her work supplies away before she left?"

"The maid was not here, child, for I was alone." She stepped closer to Delia, her eyes gleaming like a child bursting with secrets. "Do you not think me capable of eating my cake in private so as to avoid the cake police?"

"The cake police?"

The nun was now cradling the tin under one arm. "Now I have competition. However, this ghostly apparition will not get the best of me!" She proudly exited the dining room with her cherished prodigal possession as protected as her own child would have been.

Oh dear, Delia thought. This must be a bad spell. She had never seen Sister Monica Joan so unhinged.

"Delia?"

"Oh, hello Pats." The sight of Patsy's warm smile coming towards her made any thoughts of nuns or cake or ghostly apparitions completely disappear for a moment.

"Are you in here to steal something tasty?"

"If you're referring to the carrot cake, I'm afraid Sister Monica Joan disappeared with it already."

"Ah. Yes. I caught a glimpse of her sneaking it into the sitting room."

"I would have coaxed it away from her, but she seemed to be in quite a bad state." Delia lit the stove and moved the kettle over top its whistling flame.

"Really?" Patsy, obviously liking the idea of sitting down for tea with Delia, set two cups out on the table.

Delia nodded. "Something about not knowing where the cake tin went off to. Then I found it on the floor by the mop bucket." She turned to point out the spot. "Oh dear. Did you put it away, Pats?"

"Put what away? The mop bucket?"

She knew Patsy hadn't, though. "It was right there just a minute ago." Delia's face flushed with embarrassment as she began to wonder if Sister Monica Joan's senility might be contagious.

The smile on Patsy's face was taunting but playful. "Really Delia, I think you need a night out. You've worked so many odd shifts lately it must be exhausting."

Delia smiled at the tea pot and decided to forget about the whole thing. After only having one day off in two weeks, the thought of going on a date with her girlfriend seemed more than glorious. "You know you're wonderful?"

"Mhm," Patsy agreed, trying to suppress a crooked grin.

"You're also vain, conceited, and a pompous, flaming-"

"Alright, alright. That's enough, you." Patsy's smiling lips found Delia's forehead. "So is it a date then? Thursday evening? I know you're off."

"Yes. Always yes."


	2. Chapter 2

Delia closed the heavy door, inspiring an echo to whisper down the corridor, and caught Patsy's hand before she could walk two steps. "I enjoyed our night out—immensely."

Patsy's bright, smiling eyes reflected Delia's contentment. "As did I." She looked over both shoulders and, perhaps without caring to think too much about it, or being pulled by a gravitational force too strong to resist, tugged Delia to a shadow by the staircase and reached down to find Delia's lips with her own. The autumn winds had given her a shiver on the walk back to Nonnatus House, but the chill and grey skies were long gone now.

"Let us away, my love, with happy speed! There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see. Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! Arise! My love and fearless be, for o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee!" Quite unfazed by Patsy and Delia's shocked faces, Sister Monica Joan continued with a delighted smile. "Be not afraid of love revealed, for if Keats were given due regard..." She paused to gather her thoughts. "...The poet's words would break all walls of fear." Her smile faded, and her eyes searched as if reaching for a distant memory. "And love a grave obsession never be. Hidden beneath cold, yet, cherished dreams. A weed of yellow grows where thorns on roses grow... yet... the thorns are tolerated!" Sister Monica Joan offered an unsure smile and proceeded to walk down the hallway attempting to undo the riddle that had been tied up somewhere in the deep of her mind.

* * *

Trixie must be at the art museum. Patsy tried to sigh away the grueling miles of bicycling over cobblestones and crumpled leaves, her hair still wet with the rain that decided to give her a minute-long shower. It also seemed to wash away her frustration after Mrs. Bidwell's four-year-old, Franky, had spat too many paper spit-balls through a straw and into her hair while Patsy listened for the fetus's heartbeat. Usually she could happily tolerate the antics of the mothers children while she did her work but was less obliging when exhausted.

"Franky, that's enough! Go on and play with your brother outside then." Mrs. Bidwell tried to sound menacing, but the soft kindness in her eyes didn't match her tone. "Boys. Always getting into trouble, aren't they?"

Patsy agreed with a reflected smile. "Your baby is well on its way now. I'd say we'll be hearing from you any day now. Everything is in hand?"

"I'll say. My Thomas will be home by tonight. He won't be leaving my side, Nurse. You can count on that."

"Splendid, Mrs. Bidwell. Please do ring Nonnatus if anything seems amiss?"

She agreed. "Oh, and Nurse Mount, do call me Marigold. We're all neighbors here, after all."

"Of course." Marigold. Patsy loved when she met someone named after a flower. They always seemed to be the color and joy wherever they were.

Blinking away her sleepy thoughts, Patsy thought of sneaking into Delia's room. She had done it before—kneeling by her bed while Delia napped before her night shift, planting a soft kiss around the tiny freckle on her cheek bone. Delia was a deep sleeper, but Patsy decided to step in front of the mirror to make sense of her dampened hair just in case she did wake up.

As Patsy stared at her reflection, her hands grappling with the twisted bun, she noticed something that looked like a photograph stuck inside the frame at the bottom of the mirror. What was it doing there? She focused her sleepy eyes on the details of the tiny black and white image.

The young woman was in a beautiful wedding gown. Her hair was swooped up in the poofiest bun Patsy had ever seen. Her face was serious, almost sad looking, but didn't everyone in the early 1900's look sad in their wedding photos? Patsy put the photograph back where she found it assuming Trixie had put it there for some reason. She would ask her later that evening.

For the time being, Patsy resolved to visit Delia and then settle down to sleep before having to wake up at six in the morning to face another long, beautiful day of cobblestones, random rain showers, and smiling faces.


End file.
